I Never Saw Blue Like That Before
by kuroame16
Summary: Another songfic. MarkRogerfriendship. Goes from PreRent to PostRent Rated T. I don't Own RENT or the song I Never Saw Blue Like That Before. COMPLETE!
1. His Flowers

AN: So this is the first part of my new multichapter songfic (looks like songfics are becoming a gimmick for me...not that I mind too terribly) once again focusing on Mark and Roger, but this one's just gonna be a friendship story. I know where I want this to go, I'm just not sure how I'm getting there yet, so bear with me. I think you're in for a ride .

I Never Saw Blue Like That Before

Part 1: His Flowers

_**Today we took a walk up the street  
We picked a flower and climbed the hill above the lake**_

"Mark!" I cup my hands around my face to create a make-shift megaphone. I finally get him to go somewhere with me and as soon as I turn my back, he fucking disappears.

I'm actually starting to worry when I'm pelted in the face by a soft ball that shatters on impact. Snow? No, it's mid-April. Even here all the snow has melted away. I look down to see crumpled pink flowers scattered at my feet. I hear giggling coming from my left. My eyes follow the sound up a nearby tree.

"Oh my god! You should have seen your face!" I discover Mark, clinging to a branch and covering his mouth to suppress his laughter.

I brush some stray flowers off my hair and shoulders. "You run off just so you can catch me off guard when you throw pink shit in my face?" I put my hands on my hips scoldingly.

"They're not shit! And yes!" He finds a branch thick enough to support his weight (which isn't saying much) and takes a seat, swinging his legs back and forth.

"Christ, Mark, what the fuck are these things?" I pick the last one out of my hair and hold it away in mock disgust.

"They're cherry blossoms!" He grins childishly. I counter with a raised eyebrow.

"_Cherry_ blossoms?"

"Uh-huh!" He nods his head once in time with the syllables. "They're my favorite flower! Y'know, in Japan they even have a holiday for them,; Hanami!"

What the fuck? This kid moved in with us a month ago (cause he had nowhere else to go and Benny said he was 'cool') and he's been a closed book, hardly speaking more than five words to me a day. Now he's talking to me about pink flowers.

"Mark, how old are you?" I realize I've never asked him before. For all I know, he could be fifteen or something.

He looks at me, confused. "Nineteen...why?"

_Nineteen? _How could someone only a year younger than me be so...innocent?

"Heh...back home Mom would panic any time I tried to climb a tree. God, she was so overprotective."

"She sounds it." What kind of parent wouldn't let their kid climb a tree? That's a fundamental part of growing up. I guess that explains a lot.

"It sucked. I'd had all this energy when spring came around and no way to expend it. Now...I know you guys don't care if I act weird or goof off when I want to. I bet I could skateboard down Avenue A filming clouds and you wouldn't give a damn."

I scratch the back of my neck. "Well, I wouldn't say _that_. We'd definitely wish _we_ were the ones with the camera." We share a laugh, then are met with silence (which somehow seems even more awkward with Mark because it happens so often).

He's the first to speak. "Hey, Rog?"

"Yeah?" I'm hoping he's not gonna go into the symbolism of these flowers in Japanese film or something weird like that.

"...I like it here." he says, looking down at me.

I wasn't expecting that. I smile warmly at him. "I'm glad."


	2. His Situation

His Situation

_**And secret thoughts were said aloud  
We watched the faces in the clouds  
Until the clouds had blown away**_

I reach into my pocket for a cigarette as I step out the door onto the roof. Collins smokes in the loft, but he always makes me go outside for it because, apparently, one _little_ incident with a curtain makes having me anywhere near open flame a 'fire hazard'. So I like to play with my lighter...

"Those things will kill you." My surprise causes me to gag on the smoke and cough harshly. "See?" I look in the direction of the voice to see the young film-maker, sitting on the floor (ceiling?) with his legs pulled to his body, arms resting on his knees.

"Mark, what the hell are you doing up here?" I fumble with the Marlboro pack and place it and my lighter back in my pocket, resisting the urge to see how long it takes the plastic wrapper to burn (somewhere between three and five seconds, according to previous experiments).

"Nothing...so, come here often?" he jokes, although his tone seems rather distant.

I do a quick mental tally before responding "About ten to fifteen times a day." I sit next to him, legs stretched out, leaning back and putting my weight on my right hand. "What's new, Marky?"

"Today is Father's Day." He absent-mindedly picks at a thread on his pants. "Every year I've gone to see a movie with my dad."

I shrug. "So take a bus out and go see him."

"I don't think he'd want me to. We haven't spoken to each other since I dropped out of Brown."

"You went to Brown?"

"Yeah, for a _whole_ year," he remarks sarcastically. "That's how I know Benny. Didn't he tell you that?"

"No..." I feel so uninformed. I take another drag as I realize I still don't know anything about this kid.

"Well, I grew up in Scarsdale, so obviously like every other person, I was supposed to want to be just like my father. So my parents sent me to college as a business major. After a year, I couldn't stand it anymore so I dropped out and told them I wanted to make films. Dad told me not to come home. I called Benny because I didn't know who else to go to."

What do you say to something like that? I mean, I left for the city because I _wanted_ to. He had no choice. He must be terrified here.

I put my arm around him protectively and say the most casual thing that comes to mind. "So, here I thought everyone who came out of Scarsdale was a fucking yuppy."

He smiles at me (for the first time today) proudly and says "I guess I'm the exception that proves the rule."

I get up and head toward the door, tossing my cigarette off the side of the building. "Hey, I just learned this new song. You wanna film me playing it?"

His eyes light up. "Yeah!" He tries to recover and hide his excitement, but it's a little too late. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Well, come on, kid. I don't have all day."


	3. His Neverland

His Neverland

**_And were we ever somewhere else?  
You know, it's hard to say..._**

As I turn the corner and shove the recently purchased little bag into my pocket, my eyes catch flashes of read and blue. I find the source to be two police cars parked outside the corner of 11th Street and Avenue B.

I follow my first instinct and drop the baggie into the gutter. I'll just borrow April's money and buy more later. She'll understand.

When I see them putting up caution tape, I know this isn't a drug bust. Now the panic sets in.

I duck under the tape and dash up the stairs. I hear the officers calling after me that the building is a restricted area. "I fucking live here!" I yell just before I reach the door to the loft.

As the door slides open and hits the wall with a crash my eyes immediately fall on Mark. He stands leaning against the back of the couch in just his pants, right hand crossed in front of him and grabbing his left elbow. There's a discarded shirt covered in blood at his feet. His eyes are puffy and his face looks flushed. He looks up slowly at me, appearing to be in shock.

"Roger..." he chokes out.

I look to the left and see camera flashes coming from the bathroom. I hear words like 'lacerations' and 'self-inflicted. My feet seem to develop a mind of their own as they carry me toward that room.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

The voices become a drone as my eyes take in the pale arm hanging out of the tub, razor blade still touching the fingers, the blood...fuck, there's so much blood...and the note scrawled on the door in April's handwriting: 'We've got AIDS'.

I feel myself shaking as my eyes widen. AIDS. Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. April's dead and all she left me is three little words. No 'goodbye', no 'love'...just my death sentence.

I see one officer pick up the razor (I notice they're all wearing extra thick gloves) and place it in an evidence bag. My straight razor. April kept telling me one day I'd end up cutting myself with it and bleeding out. Fuck.

I can't look anymore. I feel numb all over as I make my way over to the couch, which Mark is now sitting on, curled in a little ball and rocking back and forth. My gaze never leaves the floor as I sit, listening to the slight squeaking caused by Mark's movement.

I can hear Mark half whispering through his sobs. "Sh-she was taking so long and I just...I wanted to see if she was okay and...oh god, there was blood everywhere. I tried-I tried to help her but she just got colder and colder..."

"You didn't get any on your skin, did you?" Through my shock I feel a slight sting of concern. I suppose it's something I should get used to.

"No."

"Good." A heavy silence falls over us.

After a few minutes I stop hearing the couch creak. When I hear Mark's sobs turning into sniffles,I force myself to look at him. Our eyes lock and I see the same realization in his bloodshot pair that I know is in mine as well as I feel my own tears streaming down my face.

Alphabet City isn't Neverland anymore.


	4. His Philosophy

His Philosophy

_**And I never saw blue like that before  
Across the sky, around the world  
You've given me all you have and more**_

It seems like no matter how hard I concentrate, the shaking doesn't stop. The sweat covering my body makes me feel even colder than I am already. I can hardly feel Mark's arms around me as we sit next to the window.

It figures. Today had been going so well. I woke up and my first thought wasn't about when I was going to get my next hit. Mentally, all I wanted was some coffee and...well, more sleep. However, physically I'm begging for a release from this torture they refer to as 'withdrawal'.

"Fuck! It's so fucking cold, I feel like I'm fucking freezing like a fucking popsicle!" I like the way 'fuck' sounds when said through gritted teeth. It's like a mental form of those little squeezy stress balls. "This _fucking_ sucks and I _fucking_ hate it!"

I slowly start to feel Mark's hands rubbing my back "Shh...I know, I know."

"No, you _don't_! Fuck you!" I coil my body tighter against itself and let out a sob. "I just want it to stop."

"Don't think about it. Just look at..." I feel his head turning, scanning the loft for something I could focus on. Finally he discovers the perfect thing. "Look at the sky."

"What?" I ask, my tone as confused as if he had just told me a dog stole my weekly Village Voice and sold it to a homeless person for a milk bone...or that Maureen was a lesbian.

"Trust me. Look at the sky."

I oblige, looking out the window and taking in what little of the sky isn't being obstructed by the city. There's nothing special about it today. Average shade of blue, average number of clouds, even what could be considered an average amount of sunlight. Is _he_ high now?

"What color is the sky, Roger?"

Did I die and go to kindergarten? "Blue, Mr. Cohen. Do I get a sticker?" I try to sound childish and sarcastic, but the shivering and sobbing just makes me sound pathetic.

"No, because you're wrong." What the fuck? "It's every color. The blue frequencies are absorbed by gas particles and bounce in every direction, therefore we see blue because it's the predominant color. But technically, the entire spectrum of visible light is all there."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that things aren't always what they seem. And although it might get worse first...it will get better. One day you'll wake up and this: the shaking, the pain, it'll all be over. You'll stop wishing things were different and accept them as they are. You'll go on...because this isn't where it ends. I won't let it be." He cups my chin and turns my head to face him. "It _will_ get better."

And I believe him.


	5. His Devotion

AN: Okay, here's chapter 5! And thanks go out to ChildOfTheMoon122 for all the lovely reviews (I loveses you!) As for the rest of you...I haven't gotten a word! I mean, I KNOW other people are reading this and some of you even fav'd it and/or put it on alert. But no reviews? What's up with that?

His Devotion

_**And no one else has ever shown me how  
To see the world the way I see it now  
Oh, I, I never saw blue like that**_

Santa Fe is more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. It's like everything has this warm orange hue. Such a strange feeling to be able to go outside without a coat in the middle of November and not be cold.

As I sit with my notebook in my lap, I can't even bring myself to write a single word. My mind is a blank. I'm actually relieved when the phone rings.

Sighing, I quickly make my way over to it. "Saved!" I have no idea who I thought would hear it, but the word escapes my lips anyway. As I pick up and hear the voice on the other line, I'm not surprised at all.

"Hey, Roger!" 

"Mark, I called you ten minutes ago..." 

"I know..." Over the past two weeks I've learned that over the phone, Mark becomes even more awkward than usual. It's worse than when he first moved into the loft. "It's just...quiet here, that's all."

I fiddle impatiently with my wallet chain. "It's always quiet there. It never bothered you before."

"This is different." I hear him shifting and I can imagine him biting his lip. "So...what's new?"

I start rattling off details in mock excitement. "Oh, well after I called you my coffee had gotten cold and since I didn't have milk for my cereal I poured my coffee on it just to see what it tasted like. Terrible, by the way. Don't try it. Ever. Then I stubbed my toe on the way back to the couch and I think I might have gotten a splinter. Then I tried to write for a while aaannnddd...you called me. Other than that, things are exactly the same as when we spoke last."

I hear him whimper slightly. Child. The line goes silent, but after a few moments I hear him shifting again. You'd think he was about to ask me to prom or something.

"You know...Mimi's getting out of rehab soon. She's doing really well. You should come see her." He tries to conceal his hopefulness, but I see right through it.

My eyes fall back to the discarded notebook. "I don't wanna see her right now." Not until it's finished.

"Oh. Okay. Hey, so Collins should be home around Christmas and-"

"Mark." I cut him off. I let out another sigh. "Look, I'll let you know whe-...if I come back." I catch my mistake and hope he didn't notice.

"Alright." He sounds so disappointed. "Bye." I hang up without another word. I immediately regret it...he sounded so lonely.

I walk back to the couch and look out the window. Here you can see miles and miles of sky. It's a beautiful shade of dark blue...

My mind goes back to that night over a year ago, when Mark and I looked at the sky together and suddenly it hits me: he's alone. Mimi's in rehab. Collins is god-knows-where teaching. Maureen, well, she never could think of anyone but herself. And Joanne's probably too busy trying to keep up with her plus her work. Angel's...gone. And I'm here.

I abandoned him. After everything he's done for me, the one time he needs me I run like a little bitch to the other side of the country just because I had a fight with my girlfriend. Then when he calls me, I'm bitter and sarcastic when he's done nothing wrong. I'm such a fucking _asshole_.

I quickly grab my guitar and notebook, slinging my bag over my shoulder as I walk out the door and head for the bus station.

I can't wait to see the look on his face.


	6. His Film

AN: So this chapter took a bit longer than usual, due to a) lack of internet connection and b) a slight case of writer's block. But all is well now. And to anyone who didn't review because they weren't logged in, I changed my settings to allow anonymous reviews, so my apologies to anyone who couldn't review because they weren't logged in or didn't have an account. Anyways, reviews are love, people! Reviewers get a cookie!  


His Film

_**I can't believe a month ago  
I didn't know you, I hadn't seen you  
Or heard your name**_

Mimi snuggles up next to me as we watch Angel dancing across the screen. It's been three weeks since Mark previewed Today 4 U: Proof Positive to us and we can't get enough of it.

I glance over at Mimi as she giggles at her best friend's antics. We all thought she had died that night, but through what could only be divine intervention, she was brought back to us. Even the most skeptical of us (myself included) are convinced it was Angel's doing. There's no other way to explain it. After that night, she made a miraculous recovery and now she's back to her old vibrant self (minus the smack). In fact, she seems healthier than ever.

Mark leans against the projector (how he can do that without knocking it over is something I'll never figure out), a small smile playing across his face. Buzzline has agreed to feature Today 4 U as a special two part segment next month. I've never felt more proud of him.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch him steading himself against the projector and focusing hard on breathing as if it were some laborious task. It's the third time tonight I've noticed him doing it.

The screen goes blank as the reel ends and the projector clicks off. "God, it gets better every time I watch it," Mimi remarks, leaning upside down over the side of the couch to look at our little blond friend.

He twiddles his fingers, a small blush creeping up his face as he stares at his hands. "It's not _that_ good..."

"Oh, come on! It's beautiful. And it's gonna be on TV next month, so you're not allowed to be modest!" She flips herself right side up and folds her arms, a playful expression on her face.

"You know, she has a point, Mark. It's a little late for shame, don't you think? I mean, I heard you got down on your knees and _begged_ Alexi to show it." I add, looking up at him and grinning.

His head snaps up and he stares at me, completely flushed and eyes like saucers. "What?! Who told you that?!"

"Shit! Roger, what time is it?"

"Um..." I glance at my watch. "8:45."

"I'm gonna be late for work!" She quickly sits herself up, leans into me for a quick kiss, and stands up in one motion. "Love you, Rog! Behave. Bye, Mark" she calls behind her.

"No really, (Bye, Meems!) who?"

I simply look back as he glares daggers at me and wait to hear Mimi leave. I don't speak until after the door slides shut. "Are you okay?"

He looks back at me for a moment, then busies himself with rewinding the film. "I'm fine, Roger. Why?"

"No reason...just wondering. Hey, I'm gonna call it an early night. Don't stay up too late, 'kay?"

"'Kay. Goodnight, _Dad_."

I flip him off as I shuffle into my room and flop onto the bed. I curl up with Mimi's leopard print pillow and wait for sleep, which seems further and further away each passing moment. Before I know it, a whole hour has passed.

Everything in me tells me I should go tell Mark I can hear him coughing all the way over here...but I don't.


	7. His Tea

His Tea

_**And even now, I'm so amazed  
It's like a dream, it's like a rainbow  
It's like the rain**_

I rub the sleep out of my eyes as I trudge into the kitchenette (oh god, when did I become the guy who uses words like 'kitchenette'?) and pour myself a cup of the black sludge I've become accustomed to calling 'coffee'. I walk into the living room, taking a tentative sip.

"Morning, sleepy-head." I jerk in surprise and spill more of the hot liquid than intended into my mouth, burning my tongue.

"Fuck!" I hold the injured flesh gently between my teeth and hiss. Looking up, I notice Mark for the first time, sprawled across the couch, his trademark scarf and jacket donned though he seems to have no intention of moving.

"Christ, Mark. Aren't you supposed to be over at Buzzline?"

"No..." His voice is hoarse and strained.

I sit in a chair next to him, setting my mug on the table, and lean in closer. "But...it's your big day..." At 5:00 PM eastern standard time tonight the first half of Today 4 U has it's television premier on Buzzline. No one's first choice of programming, I know, but it's still a big step.

"I feel like shit."

"I can see that." He's pale. More so than usual. "You need anything?"

"Ugh, no. My stomach is killing me. Just the thought of food is making me nauseous." He brushes some stray sweat-soaked hair out of his face and breathes heavily.

"I'll get you some tea." I stand up and head to the kitchen a second time.

I hear him speak feebly behind me. "Actually, yeah...that sounds good." The words are quickly followed by an onset of coughs. I grab a tissue as I pour hot water over a tea bag as I walk back over to him. Every time I hear him take a strangled breath, I wince.

I set the tea next to my coffee and hand him the tissue. He wipes his hands and sets it next to my cup before picking up his own and bringing it to his lips, savoring the warm liquid. "Mm...thanks, I feel a bit better now." He sets it down again to let it cool.

I send him a playful wink. "Hey, anything for the big time director, right?" I hear him chuckle as I reach for my mug. My hand stops about an inch away from the handle. My eyes fall on the tiny flecks of red covering the tissue.

I freeze, unable to immediately process what I'm seeing. "Rog?" I look up to find him staring at me, concerned. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the door. "Ro-Roger! What the fuck!? What are you doing!?"

"You're going to the clinic. Now."

"Roger, I'm _fine_!"

"No. You're not."

As I lead him down the stairs, I pray to every god I've ever heard of that I'm wrong.

AN: Well, there's chapter 7. If I'm up late tonight, I might post chapter 8, but I've been given a little...distraction. I just got the MASH Martinis and Medicine boxset and have just now been able to tear myself away (mmm, Hawkeye... drools ). Anyway, please review and I'll give you...well, if I had any talent as far as drawing goes, I'd give you this cute picture I have in my head of Mark imagining a chibi Roger in Santa Fe throwing his arms happily into the air as Fenders rain from the sky (if you read Through the Tears and the Laughter, you'll understand), but alas, my talent lies in words and rhythm. But you have the mental image now, and that's almost as good . Anyway, reviews time please!


	8. His Fate

His Fate

_**And some things are the way they are  
And words just can't explain**_

I drum on my knees with my fingers as my legs and head bob up and down to a silent rhythm that even I can't hear. I reach to pick up a magazine before I realize I've already flipped through them all twice. Incidentally, this month's People contains the word 'exciting' twenty-seven times while Women's Health has 'tragic' nineteen times. Waiting rooms were invented as a form of torture.

The last week or so has consisted of various question and answer sessions, samples, and tests, most of which have taken place in this 'proper' hospital, courtesy of Benny (as much as I hate to admit it, sometimes it helps to know someone with money).

Right now, Mark is down the hall somewhere with a doctor who looks way too young to be giving people the type of news I hope we aren't about to receive.

I've just picked up Rolling Stone to see how many times it has 'pick' when I hear footsteps heading my way. Despite my mind screaming at me not to, I look up toward the sound just as it ceases and immediately regret it. Mark stands in front of me with a far off gaze, clutch a sheet of paper and various pamphlets. He catches me staring at them and slowly hands the paper to me. I take it, holding my breath and wishing it won't say what I already know it's going to.

As I read the words, a throbbing pain forms in my chest. My pulse echoes in my ears and I come to the conclusion that my heart must have jumped up to my skull. That would explain the emptiness accompanying the throb.

Mark is halfway out the door by the time I look up. I pull myself together and follow him, but I don't bother catching up.

Despite the fact that I stay exactly five paces behind him the entire walk home, with each step he looks further and further away.

As we walk into the loft, he shuts the door behind me and we stand there in silence. He looks at me, breathing slowly and mouth in a straight line. People who don't know him like I do would miss the terror in his eyes, but to me it's as clear as day.

I let out a breath I forgot I was holding and shake my head. As I turn toward the kitchen, I feel Mark grab my arm and pull me back. He buries his face in my shoulder which I quickly feel becoming significantly more moist and clings to me for dear life (if only it were that easy). I rub his back soothingly as tears form in my own eyes.

I want to tell him everything's okay, that it _will_ get better...but I can't.

Mesothelioma. For the second time, I read a disease off a sheet of paper and it changed my life forever.

--

AN: Yeah...sadness. Reviews, please!


	9. My Hero

My Hero

_**And I never saw blue like that before  
Across the sky, around the world  
You've given me all you have and more**_

I burst into laughter as Mark dangles a cattail (the plant kind) over Maureen's head as she lies at his feet in front of the couch. She giggles and bats at it with her hands. Occasionally, when Maureen is drunk she thinks she's a cat. We bought her a cat suit a few years back and now she wears it at least once a year on random holidays. This year, she decided on today; Valentine's Day.

After a while, she manages to knock the plant out of Mark's hand and, giggling louder, crawls up onto the couch and snuggles next to him. "Pookie, don't take this the wrong way.."

"What, Mo?" He plays with her hair, a little tipsy himself.

She pulls back slightly and grabs his arm. "You're skinny."

For a moment, Mark's eyes lock with mine and I remember the promise I made last week. "Maureen, Mark's _always_ been skinny." I add a small laugh, hoping she'll change the subject. Mark doesn't want her to know.

"No, I mean he's _too_ skinny! And pale! Marky, are you feeling okay?" Through the drunken haze in her eyes, I see some genuine concern.

"Mo, I've always looked like this. You're just drunk."

"I _am_!" She smiles proudly. For some reason, when a person is inebriated, they feel like it's a great accomplishment.

I look toward the door as I hear it slide open. Joanne walks in, briefcase still in hand. She nods a 'hello' to me. Then she takes one look at Maureen, slumps her shoulders, and groans. "Oh, honeybear..."

Maureen finally looks up from fawning over Mark to greet her lover. "Pookie!" She clomps over and hangs from Joanne's neck, not quite able to stand in one place on her own. "Pookie, tell Marky he's too skinny."

"Mark, you're too skinny." She says quickly, and sends us an apoligetic look. We told her yesterday. Mark wanted to get his affairs in order. God, I fucking hate that phrase.

"See?!" Maureen points at Mark and smiles, apparently victorious.

"Okay, honey, time to go home." Joanne leads her toward the door and, after a brief show of reluctance on Maureen's part, they say some quick goodbyes (Maureen's consisting of asking what exactly she drank tonight) and head home, leaving myself and Mark alone in the loft.

I sigh and begin picking up empty bottles. "Well, _that_ was close."

"Yeah...she's a bit more observant than we give her credit for."

"So _why_ aren't you in the hospital?" I call back from the kitchen.

"Roger, we've been over this." He answers with a calmness I can't even fathom right now. "You saw the x-ray."

Damn right, I did. The tumors have already covered his stomach and lungs. I'm not too proud to admit the moment I saw it, I ran to the bathroom and vomited. Even just thinking about it now, I can still taste bile in my mouth.

"And you're point is?" I already know, and it makes perfect sense, but...

"Rog, I don't want to die in a hospital bed." The doctors gave him a few months at the most, even with treatment.

I start washing out glasses, trying my best to still sound casual. "How can you say that?" 'Die'. Like it's the most weightless, unloaded word. You'd think it was just another word the way he says it.

"Well, everyone dies, Roger." He's still so calm...so fucking _calm_.

"This isn't supposed to happen..." I grip the edge of the sink, soapy water slowly rising to the brim. Everything feels wrong.

"What _is_ supposed to happen, Roger?"

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO FUCKING LIVE _FOREVER_!" The words come out with such force my body hunches over the sink. I'm not sure if they're really echoing or if it's just my imagination. But as soon as they leave my mouth, I realize how naive they are, how childish, how stupid...and how much I really did believe them.

Suddenly feeling weak, I slide down to the floor, still gripping the sink, and hide my face in my arms. My breath comes in short hiccups, but there are no tears. If I cry again, it's real. I try to steady my breathing as the water starts flowing down my arms onto my hair and shoulders. I've almost forgotten Mark's presence until I feel his arms around me.

"I'm sorry, but..." I feel his arms tighten around me as he finishes softly "this is the way it has to be."

"...are you scared?"

"Petrified," he answers without missing a beat.

"Me, too." I sob. For some reason, knowing we're both afraid makes this so much more bearable.

I feel a tear run down my face. I can't hide from it anymore. Despite myself, I feel a smile pulling at my lips. I turn around to face him and he laughs as eight words come out of my mouth and immediately break the tension.

"So, what do you want to do tomorrow?"


	10. His Life

His Life

_**And no one else has ever shown me how  
To see the world the way I see it now  
Oh, I, I never saw blue like that before**_

I chuckle quitely to myself as I take in the contents of the room; almost two dozen empty bottles, three half eaten pizzas, a somewhat-reformed yuppy scum curled up on the chair like a little boy, and an anarchist philosopher half hanging off the metal table still clutching a bottle of Stoli. Maureen and Joanne decided to crash in Mark's room about 2 hours ago and Mimi went to our bed at about the same time. That leaves myself and Mark as the only one's left conscious this beautiful St. Patrick's day. We got an early start this year. It's only 10 PM and the majority of us are down already.

"Rog, tell the world to stop spinning," I hear from Mark, who is currently lying across the couch and using my thigh as a pillow. He looks dizzy.

I look up at the ceiling to find it moving in a strange circular pattern. "Fuck you. Why is it always _my_ job to tell it to stop?"

"Because it _listens_ to you."

"Pfft...bullshit!" I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, wait a few moments, then open them in an attempt to make everything stand still. It fails. "Aww, fuck." My head hurts from looking at it. Or maybe it's hurt for a while now and I was too drunk to notice.

I gaze down at Mark who's pulling his plaid coat over himself like a blanket. A week ago, he was spending most of his time on the couch, only getting up to shower and use the bathroom. For the past few days he's been too weak to get up from it at all. I invited everyone over for one last 'hoorah' because I knew soon it just...wouldn't be the same.

"Christ, when was the last time we were all too wasted to give a shit?" he asks.

I think for a moment before responding. "The New Year's Eve before last."

"That's too long. Hey...thanks for this."

"What are best friends for?"

He smiles playfully. "Here all this time I thought they were for being a pain in my ass."

I bump his head with my leg. "Dick!" After sharing a short fit of giggles, we become silent. I feel myself sobering up slightly as my mind fills with things I never thought would matter to me. Suddenly, I want to know them all. So I start to ask. "Hey Mark, what's your favorite color?"

And he answers without question. "Blue."

"Who was your hero growing up?"

He thinks for a moment. "Boris Karloff."

"What was your favorite lullaby?"

"Mom always used to sing Goodnight, My Angel by Billy Joel to get me to go to sleep." He starts singing quietly to himself, his voice somewhat raspy and dry, but still beautiful. "_Some day we'll all be gone, but lullabies go on and on, they never die. That's how you and I will be..."_. I quickly blink back the tears blurring my vision.

This goes on for a good hour or so. I ask him every question about him that comes to mind. Most people would think they were meaningless, but deep down they're the most important things to know about someone...the things that will remind you of them for the rest of your life.

Soon, I realize there's only one more thing I'd like to know. I take a few moments to try and figure out how I want to phrase it. "Is there anything you regret...not doing?"

"What do you mean, Rog?" He looks up at me sleepily.

"I mean...you never got married, you never had kids, you didn't become the most famous director in the world...there's so many things you didn't get to do. Do you regret it?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "Not at all." He sees my confused look and takes his time explaining. "I mean, all those things would have been nice if I had time for them...but...I don't. So I did what I could in what time I had. I loved, I created, I celebrated, I mourned...I lived. I don't regret any of it. Besides, I had you...and everyone else...what more could I ask for?" I've just been given the best compliment I'll ever receive.

"Yeah..." I stroke his hair. In these circumstances, little displays of affection like this stop being weird.

Silence falls over us again. It feels thick and heavy. Despite Mark's words, my head is still filled with 'what if's and 'maybe's. I forget them as his weak voice breaks the silence once more.

"Hey, Rog?"

I look down at him again. "Yeah?" I'm hoping he's not going to say 'goodbye', not literally. I could take anything except hearing that one word.

"...I liked it here."

I make probably the strangest noise I've ever uttered as I sob and laugh at the same time. Then I lean down and kiss him on the forehead. "I'm glad."

I know the moment he closes his eyes that they're never going to open again.

----

AN: Sorry about not updating as often...I'm just being lazy. There will be another chapter after this, then an epilogue. Thank you all so much for reading! I'll have the rest up soon!


	11. Our Memories

Our Memories_**  
**_

_**And it feels like now**_

As I sit in the pew and lean forward, staring at my feet, the murmur of the priest registers in my mind, but I don't hear him. Part of me is aware of Mimi's arm around me, rubbing my side soothingly, but I don't feel it. Because I'm not here.

Physically, I'm surrounded by my family (what's left of it, anyway) while a strange man tells us about someone who he knew nothing about and that I knew better than myself. Physically, I'm in a church saying goodbye to the best friend I've had, that I'll _ever_ have.

But mentally, I'm years and miles away from this place. Mentally, I'm jumping from scene to scene in my memories of the past three years (it sounds so small when you put it like that) that somehow contained a lifetime. Images of Mark's face dance around my vision, so clear there are more than a few moments where I feel I could reach out and touch him. His voice rings in my ears.

_**And it feels always**_

_"They're cherry blossoms! They're my favorite flower!"_

_"I guess I'm the exception that proves the rule."_

_"What color is the sky, Roger?"_

_"It's just...quiet here, that's all."_

_"It WILL get better."_

_"...I like it here."_

_"Roger..." _

_"...I liked it here."_

When I come out of my reverie, I find I've somehow followed everyone else outside as the casket is lowered into the ground. Words about 'ashes' and 'dust' that never really meant anything to me are spoken as the wooden box gets further and further away. Suddenly, I remember that my hand is clutching something. I look down to see my fingers wrapped around a small branch covered in pink flowers. I toss it into the hole and start to walk away.

"Roger?" Mimi calls after me, but I just shake my head.

"Not now." I need to be by myself.

_**And it feels like coming home**_

I feel completely numb as I walk to the loft. As I enter the living room, I take in the entire place slowly, as if I'm seeing it for the first time. I sit on the couch and look around at nothing in particular. For the first time since I moved in here, the entire place feels empty.

Then my eyes finally decide to stop and focus on a single object: Mark's camera. It sits on the far end of the coffee table, abandoned, soon to be gathering dust from lack of use. His work, his trademark..._him_.

My emotions hit me all at once and I feel tears streaming down my face. I bend over double and cover my face, shaking almost violently. I cry like I haven't cried since I was a child, tears coming out in buckets, my entire body forcing the sobs out of my lungs. I rock myself back and forth, trying to control my breathing, but as soon as I inhale the air is pushed out of my lungs in a whimper. "Oh, god..." I plead to the empty room, knowing it's too little too late.

As the sobs subside to hiccups and sniffles, my eyes feel like sandpaper and my lungs are on fire. I wipe away the last of the tears, and tentatively look up at the camera again. This time, I stand and pick it up. As I've seen Mark do hundreds of times, I wind it up and, almost shyly, hold it to my face and look through the lens.

_**I never saw blue like that before**_

"March 23, 1991, 10:32 AM, eastern standard time. From here on in, I add 'filmmaker' to my resume. There's no reason for this thing to gather dust. At least, not yet."

AN: Wow, two chapters in one night (erm, morning I guess). Yay insomnia!


	12. Epilogue: My Gift

My Gift

December 24, 1991, 11:25 PM. eastern standard time. Balloons float all around the loft and tinsel is strung about nearly anywhere it can be put. It's Mimi's way of making up for not having a tree. It's surprisingly warm for the season and the old illegal wood burning stove is actually enough to heat the entire place.

Mimi comes home from work in about an hour. Until then, I have the entire place to myself, which is just how I want it.

I position the camera on the metal table and turn a chair around to face it. Then I quickly lean over, wind it up, and sit in front of it with my legs folded up onto the chair. I stare into the lens.

"Um...hey, Mark. Merry Christmas. It's been, uh...9 months. Yeah. Look, I, uh...I made something for you. It's not much, and god knows it's crap compared to what you could have done, but I hope you like it anyway. So..." I stare at the floor. There's so much I want to say, but I have no idea where to start. Why is this so hard?

I almost reluctantly look back up at the camera, trying to collect myself. But this time, I don't see the lens or the lever moving in a slow circle. I see Mark standing in front of me patiently, just listening. And suddenly the words come.

"I just wanted to say...you were always there for me. You put up with more shit than any person should rightfully have to. You gave me hope when I had none. You made me laugh when I thought I'd never smile again. When my body was a mess and shaking cause it missed that fucking poison I'd been pumping into it, you held me...you fucking _held_ me. I mean, who else would do something like that?" I wipe my eyes. I can't believe I'm crying already.

I take a deep breathe and continue. "I always told myself 'someday, I'm going to pay him back for all this.' That was always it; 'someday'. 'Someday, I'll make it up to him'. I guess I forgot that 'someday's don't really exist. So while I was waiting for 'someday', one day I turned around and...you were gone. I'd always assumed there would be tomorrow, or the next day. I mean, it felt like you'd _always_ been here...and that you always would be."

His face becomes blurry and I wipe my eyes again. "I'm sorry...fuck, I'm so sorry I was never there for you. That I never said "screw someday, I'm doing it all _today_'. And I know you, being you...you'd just smile and forgive me without me even asking you to...but making it up to myself is a completely different story. So I made you a Christmas present. Say 'hi' to April and Angel for me, okay? I love you."

As if it somehow knew it was time, the crank stops turning, ending the clip. I carefully open up the small machine and take out the film. Then I set up the projector and set to work editing the clip to the beginning of another reel. After that, I simply sit back and watch all the clips I've gathered together.

For the past 9 months I've spent as much time as I could capturing little moments, usually when everyone wasn't paying enough attention to me to even notice.

Mimi dancing around the loft, Collins sitting quietly on the couch with a cup of coffee, reading a book. Maureen feeding a slice of pizza to Joanne. Benny singing Old Time Rock and Roll, using a rusty spoon as a microphone. Dinners at the Life Cafe. Days lazily spent on the loft couch, passing a bottle of Stoli around. Afternoons in Tompkins Square Park, throwing balls of crushed up flowers at each other.

Then the final scenes: each memeber of our little family waving at the camera. I simply told them 'say hi to Mark!' They never really caught on what I was doing. To be honest, I don't really want them to ever know.

The reel ends. I turn the projector off and place the film in a canister. I take a piece of paper, write a single word in the center, and fold it in half, writing 'to Mark' on the outside. I place the paper on top of the canister and tie them together securely with balloon string. Then I set to work tying balloon after balloon to the entire package. I'm almost afraid I'm going to run out of room for them when it finally seems there are enough to support the weight of the metal, film, and paper. It's perfect.

I sit on the window ledge and open one of the windows, feeling a cold rush of air in my face. I hold the package outside and look down at my watch.

11:59 and 57 seconds...58...59...

I let go of the balloons and watch as the only existing copy of the first and only film I'll ever create slowly disappears into the sky. I take note that the sky appears to be a dark navy blue, but in my mind's eye I can see red, yellow, green...every color I've ever beheld.

I smile softly and speak aloud that single word written in the note.

"Goodbye."

- -

AN: Well, that's it, everyone. The end of yet another story. I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you all so _so_ much for all your reviews! I hope you keep reading! I don't really have any other ideas for stories right now, so it might be a while before I start a new one, but there will be more, I assure you! Anyway, bye bye for now!


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